by Wendy Loggia
“Love you too.” As Liam heads back to his friends, I make my way around the kitchen, rearranging platters, putting out more napkins, refilling water pitchers. When at last the doorbell rings, I hurry to the front door and fling it open.
It’s Jacob. I spy the BAH HUMBUG sweatshirt underneath his coat.
“Hi, Bailey. Merry Christmas,” he says, thrusting out a large round silver tray that is covered with a snowflake-patterned cellophane. The tray is filled with the most beautiful iced sugar cookies I’ve ever seen.
“Wow,” I say, gazing down at the tray. “Is that…a partridge in a pear tree?” There are candy canes and holiday stockings and snowmen and the aforementioned partridge.
“Uh…maybe?” Jacob is looking at the cookies as if he’s never seen them before. I realize what’s happened here.
“You weren’t supposed to buy the cookies,” I point out peevishly. “That’s the whole point of a cookie swap, you know. Everybody brings cookies that they baked—with care and love.”
He shrugs. “Well, I didn’t know. There’s plenty of care and love here, and for your information, I didn’t buy them.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Do you expect me to believe that?” I ask, frowning at him.
“Yeah, I do,” Jacob says. “I never lie, Bailey.”
He’s so comfortable in his own skin that it makes me simultaneously impressed and jealous. “You believe in Santa, don’t you?” he adds. “Ho ho ho and all that?”
I refuse to dignify this with a response. Instead I sigh and take the tray from him. “Just come in.” I show him where to hang his coat, and we head into the kitchen. It feels even more crowded than it was before.
“Hey, Jacob, how are you?” Mr. Millner from down the block shakes his hand. Jacob has barely been here two minutes and already he’s run into someone he knows. “Been seeing you in the paper a lot lately—great stuff this year.”
“Aw, thanks, Mr. Millner,” Jacob says, grinning. “There was some solid competition out there.” The two of them start talking about mile times and hilly versus flat courses. I walk over and try to find room on the island for the tray.
I’m wedging the tray in next to a plate of Pfeffernüsse (say that three times fast) when suddenly Mellie appears out of nowhere. “He came and he brought amazing cookies? Ah-mazing!” She reaches to take one but I give her a slap on the wrist, jingling her bangles.
“Can you leave them for a minute? They’re so pretty.” My eyes are moving at supersonic speed around the party. I say a silent prayer, hoping that Charlie got a cold or is having car trouble or gets lost—so that it’s not that he doesn’t want to come but that he can’t.
Mellie rolls her brown eyes at me. “Call me crazy, but I thought we were supposed to eat the cookies, not stare at them like they’re a still-life painting.” Then she lets out a long sigh. “I wish I had a boy bringing me cookies.”
I snort-laugh. “You kind of did.” Back in September, there was this sophomore who developed a massive crush on Mellie. She did not feel the same way about him. He obviously had been checking out her food preferences, because after a few weeks of blatant staring and not-so-casually walking by her locker, he started stopping by our table at lunch and wordlessly handing her a bag of Oreo Minis, which are her favorite. Finally Mellie had to tell him to stop—and she also went cold turkey on Oreos.
She glares at me. “We agreed to never speak of that again.”
I wave my hand around in the air. “Jacob didn’t bring me cookies, Mel. He’s just trying to be a gracious party guest.”
Mellie gives me an incredulous look. “He likes you. But whatever.” She drops her voice. “Did you hear Cameron Lewis broke up with Kyra Dola?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, right before Christmas? That’s sad.”
“What? No, it’s not,” she says. “It’s awesome! They were a total mismatch.” She rubs her hands together. “And I know just who would be right for him.”
At that moment, Jacob lets out a loud laugh and my attention swivels over to him. He’s in the middle of a group of moms, who all are joking and chatting with him. I’m impressed at how easily he gets along with adults—he seems so relaxed.
“And I told him, ‘No, Mr. Cooper, we ate the burgers already!’ ” The moms practically double over with laughter, and one of them reaches over and pinches his cheek. It’s clear they all think he’s adorable.
My anxiety flares up again at the thought of Charlie showing up. I’d have to tell Jacob that Charlie is the guy who saved me from the snowdrift after the party—and Charlie would likely recognize Jacob as the “tall guy in the green hat.” Juggling two boys at the same holiday party feels very out of my depth. Trying to distract myself, I take my phone out from my back pocket. To my surprise, there’s a text from Charlie. I didn’t even feel my phone buzz. My heart beats faster as I click on it.
Hey, Bailey. I’m so sorry—I started feeling under the weather tonight, and when I got to your house my head was really killing me. I ended up going to the pharmacy for some headache meds and going home. I really wanted to come. Your house looks great, by the way—I love the reindeer! Another time when I’m not feeling iffy, okay?
I clutch my phone. I feel bad that Charlie’s sick. But at the same time, I’m pretty sure he’ll get better…and a wave of relief floods through me. Knowing that there isn’t going to be a circle of cringe with me and Charlie and Jacob definitely lifts a weight off my shoulders.
I text back Oh, no! So sorry you’re sick! I hope you feel better soon. Let’s hang out another time!
Definitely
It’s as if I’ve been operating under a fuzzy filter during the cookie swap and now that I know there won’t be an awkward run-in, the Christmas music is clearer, the cookies sweeter, the mood happier.
I look up to see one of the moms trying to get Jacob to eat a pizzelle. I beeline over to him. “Hey, remember that thing I wanted to show you?”
“Oh, yeah, that thing,” he says, lighting up. He nods bye to the moms. “Phew, I thought I was a goner there,” he whispers in my ear. “My cheeks thank you.”
“No problem,” I tell him. “And I do have something to show you. We, um, have a gingerbread decorating station,” I say, pulling him through the crowd. In the corner of our kitchen, where we normally keep our coffeepot and mugs, we’d placed large cookie sheets of gingerbread men with bottles of colored icing, green and red sugars, edible pearls, and sprinkles.
“I think these are the only cookies that aren’t homemade,” I say, picking up one of the men. Besides the ones you brought, I add mentally. There’s no reason to start that up again.
“I feel bad for the guy. He’s so underdressed,” Jacob says, picking up a bottle of green icing and squirting some on the cookie’s chest.
I watch, amused, as Jacob decorates the cookie, giving it a green top and a blue bow tie. The tip of his tongue pokes out the side of his mouth, a quirky little habit my brother also has, which I take to be a sign that he’s concentrating hard.
“You’re like a little kid,” I say, laughing as he gives the gingerbread man white eyes and a ridiculously large red smile. His enthusiasm is contagious, and soon we’ve decorated a little army of gingerbread men. Jacob is laser-focused on his cookies. He’s concentrating hard—his tongue still sticking out. Jacob gives the cookie men suspenders and bow ties and Christmas sweaters. He even makes them little sneakers.
“A naked gingerbread man,” Jacob says, pointing to the last cookie. He lowers his voice. “It’s almost scandalous.”
Because it’s Jacob’s first cookie swap and I’m full of good cheer, not to mention eggnog, I let him decorate it.
* * *
• • •
It’s after eleven o’clock when the last guests leave. My family is cleaning up the kitchen in that tired but happy way you do after a party you
host goes exactly how you want it to. “Let’s just get the dishwasher going and get any leftover cookies in tins. The rest can wait until tomorrow,” my mom says, blowing out the white votive candles that sit on our island.
“Bailey, did you take Dickens out?” my dad asks, yawning as he puts an empty platter in the sink and squirts some dish soap on it. “And if not, could you?”
“Okay.” I almost forgot about him. The temperature has dropped, and I pull his fleecy Christmas sweater over his small but solid little body and clip the leash onto his collar. “Let’s go out, D.”
The sky is dark, and I watch as a plane flies overhead, leaving a plume of white in its wake. I always wonder about the people on the planes I see—who they are, where they’re going. Whether they’re looking out the window wondering about the unseen people on the ground below. I stand there, sky gazing, while Dickens sniffs around. He starts trotting down our front walk to the sidewalk, and I slowly walk behind him, holding his leash.
I usually am the one who gets stuck taking Dickens out before bed, but I don’t mind. Being outside, looking up at the sky or at my neighborhood, peaceful and quiet, gives me time to process my day and my thoughts. And right now my thoughts are mostly of the Jacob variety. We’d had a lot of laughs tonight—joking around with our neighbors, decorating the gingerbread cookies, taking selfies. He has a good sense of humor, and to my surprise, we have a lot in common—we both are close to our families, we like winter better than summer, our favorite class is English, and our favorite cookie from the party is Mom’s spritz.
And Jacob was a big hit with my parents and our friends. I managed to look at him out of the corner of my eye multiple times, and each time he was either socializing, laughing, or eating a cookie. I sent him home with a large tin filled with as many different kinds of cookies as possible.
“What, I don’t get one of those bags with a ribbon on it?” he asked when I handed him the tin.
I rolled my eyes. “This holds about four times as many cookies as a treat bag. You’re welcome. And don’t open it until you get home. Willpower.”
“Willpower. Got it,” he repeated dutifully. He sent a Snap of himself with the full tin of cookies intact when he got home. Gingerbread dreamin’ he texted me.
Despite the fun I had with Jacob, I keep revisiting Charlie in my head. I really hoped that he might be my Christmas wish. I let out a sigh, the sound extra loud in the quiet winter air. I guess it’s still possible—he did say he wanted to hang out another time. So I can’t be too upset about it. I’d had a good night—and one of the biggest reasons why was because of Jacob. “I’m glad you came tonight, Jacob Marley,” I whisper aloud. “I guess things happen for a reason.”
Dickens finally finds the right place to do his business. Once he finishes, I scoop up his poop and lead him back up the sidewalk toward my house. Our garbage cans are on the side of the house, and when I lift the lid, I see something on top of the large white garbage bag inside the can.
What on earth? I peer closer. There is a bent, crinkled paper plate of cookies tossed in the trash. I turn on my phone’s flashlight and hold the light over the garbage can. The cookies are all crumbled and burnt—they honestly look like they belong in the trash. But I don’t remember seeing them at the party—and Mom would never throw out cookies that someone had taken the time to bake. Where did they come from?
Dickens tilts his head at me, his tail wagging. I shrug. “Right? I agree with you, D. It’s a mystery.”
* * *
• • •
Later that night, I’m in bed, looking at photos on my phone. There are some great ones of all the cookies—I angled the shots in a way that made our island look about a zillion feet long. I captured some good candids of our neighbors, and Mrs. Yamano took a cute shot of me, Phoebe, Mellie, and Caitlin with our arms around each other. I stop on a selfie of me and Jacob. I took it when we were decorating the gingerbread men, and even though I only took a couple photos, I managed to capture a great shot—I’m looking at the camera, smiling, posed, and Jacob is looking at me, laughing, holding up one of the decorated gingerbread men. It’s like Mom always says: cookies bring everyone together.
I’m debating putting the photo of me and Jacob on my Insta story when my phone vibrates. It’s Mellie.
So this is interesting
What?
He asked me not to tell you
I frown. Who asked you not to tell me what?
Jacob asked me not to tell you what I’m about to tell you
Then she sends a close-up Snap of her face with a Santa filter on it. She looks like she has a long white beard.
My fingers fly over the phone. What did he ask you not to tell me? Did he break one of Mom’s crystal punch cups? Or spill something somewhere?
So get this. We were talking to him when we were outside waiting for Caitlin’s mom to pick us up and Caitlin told him how amazing his cookies looked. He got this weird look on his face and explained that he had made cookies and brought them but they came out awful. All burnt and stuff. But he was still going to bring them. But when he got to your house and walked up the front steps, this blond British dude appeared out of nowhere and handed him the perfect cookies.
I gasp. A blond dude? It was Charlie. It had to be!
OMG.
Right? Jacob said the guy was very apologetic and said he wasn’t able to come inside but that he didn’t want the cookies to go to waste. I guess Jacob ditched his cookies and gave himself an upgrade.
I gasp again. That plate of cookies I found in the trash must be the ones Jacob baked. And there is no doubt in my mind that if Charlie had made cookies, they would be like something you’d see on an Instagram baking account. Everything he did was perfect. But—
I think it’s cute that he baked cookies.
He was trying to impress you.
You can’t blame him for pretending the fancy cookies were his.
BUT WHO IS THE MYSTERY BLOND COOKIE GUY?
I hesitate, my fingers twitching. Don’t know.
Now I’m scared that we ate cookies from a stranger.
I send her a Snap of my face and write I wouldn’t worry about it. We send each other a few more Snaps before saying good night and then I plug my phone in the charger and turn it off.
I am 100 percent certain the mystery guy is Charlie. Who else could it be? But why hadn’t he told me he was literally on my doorstep? From what he texted earlier, it seemed like he just pulled up in front of my house and then drove off—I didn’t realize he walked all the way up my front steps. Did other people see him? Did he talk to anyone? Was he really so sick that he couldn’t come inside? And why, of all people, did he pick Jacob to give his cookies to?
I sigh, remembering the sad little plate of cookies I’d found in the trash. Maybe Jacob did need his help. And then my heart skips a little beat. Giving cookies to a stranger in need: now that was the true spirit of the holiday season.
I reach for my phone to text Charlie—my hand hovering over it—and then I change my mind. Instead, I flip my pillow and burrow under the covers, pulling my comforter up to my chin.
What is it you’re supposed to dream of at Christmastime? Sugarplums?
I close my eyes. Tonight I am going to dream of boys. And…cookies.
• • •
Mom’s Spritz Cookies
2 sticks salted butter, room temperature
½ cup granulated sugar
½ tsp. almond extract
½ tsp. vanilla
1 egg yolk
2 cups flour
Preheat oven to 350°F. Cream butter and sugar together thoroughly. Add the almond and vanilla extracts, egg yolk, and flour. Mix with clean hands and roll into a log for the cookie press. You can fit about 28 cookies on an ungreased sheet. Bake for 9 to 10 minutes or until very lightly browned.
Allow to cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire cooling rack. Enjoy!
“I thought you said you only need poster board,” I complain after school on Friday, frowning as I push the small red shopping cart behind Karolyn. We’ve been here a half hour already, and so far all we have in our cart is a pair of craft scissors and a roll of double-stick tape. I have to work later tonight at the bookstore, so I’m trying to move it along. Karolyn has a project for her Spanish class that involves cutting out images of food and gluing them on a board and then labeling them. And since I drove to school today and I am the nicest sister ever, here we are at Michaels.
“Yeah, but Mrs. Federico said we could get extra points for presentation, so I want to make my project look as good as possible.” My sister pauses in front of a display of silver and gold glitter Sharpies. Anything sparkly catches her eye, even a marker.
“Those look nice,” I say, barely glancing at them. “Now where’s the poster board?” The store is packed with holiday ribbons, fake potted poinsettias, craft kits, artificial trees, nutcrackers, prelit garlands—not to mention customers. Normally I love shopping here, but the closer we creep to Christmas, the more crowded it becomes.
“Nah, too expensive,” Kar says, drifting toward a display of Washi tape and rhinestone stickers. When Mom isn’t around to pay, Karolyn turns into Girl on a Budget.
I let out a protracted yawn. I am so tired. I have yawned my way through all my classes today. Our teachers are in the preholiday frame of mind, trying to squeeze in as many quizzes, tests, and projects before we close, as if we won’t be back in class in two weeks.
“Kar, come on. I don’t have all day. Get. The. Poster. Board.”
My sister sticks her tongue out at me. “Remember that time when Mom dragged us to three different stores because you absolutely had to have a black skirt?”
I scowl. “Yes, it was for the band concert dress code, dummy. It wasn’t like I wanted an itchy polyester knee-length skirt.” I ripped it off the moment I got home and shoved it into the far recesses of my closet until I had to pull it out again for the winter concert.